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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731361">Landslide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom'>maevestrom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Artists, F/F, Gardens, Music, Neurodiversity, Never by name but it isnt subtle, Other, Pining, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Romance, Taverns, Valentine's Day, agender!Beruka, neurodivergence, trans!Severa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:13:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22731361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevestrom/pseuds/maevestrom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One lonely Valentine's Day evening sees Beruka without the unknowing object of their affections and, with the help of a mysterious and lovely new girl, they try to find the path to making things right somehow for the first time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Belka | Beruka/Kagero, Belka | Beruka/Luna | Selena, mentioned Orochi/Kagero</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Wasp's Nest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is... definitely a tricky work for me to quantify. I generally write to divulge my feelings, but in this case I feel like I sort of wrote to escape. To challenge myself. To incorporate ideas I wished to try. And I realized just how much I love Beruka to death. She deserves love and respect and I hope I gave it to her. </p><p>I hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You enjoy dressing in extravagant amounts of clothes. Were I in your mind, I would not spend upwards of a hundred dollars on clothing in a month, considering the expenses we share as roommates, but you pay yours in a timely and accurate manner, so I do not feel a need to condemn it. Besides, it is a trait that is uniquely </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When I think of you, I think of a woman who has begrudgingly managed to slum herself into scarves and dresses from the secondhand store rather than the fine linens you once could afford before things, as you vaguely say (and I do not press, though am curious) “fell through”. I think of you, tugging at an impractically long scarlet scarf underneath a white sun hat and pair of sunglasses, taking fifteen minutes after dressing to perfect the accessory choices in your mind only. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think of this because that is just what you were doing- your red hair is in its twin ponytails (you tell me just to call it twintails- forgive me for being slow on that manner) and you are wearing a sleeveless white dress despite it being the middle of February because, as you would tell me often, your arms are your best features. I would be inclined to agree- your biceps, in particular, manage to pull off an aesthetically pleasing mixture of softness and hardness at once- yet I suppose that I would prefer if you did not freeze said arms off. I consider it a small mercy that you are wearing knee-high striped socks- white and red, another good choice. Oddly enough, it reminds me of strawberry cheesecake. It reminds me of you, and I like things that remind me of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wear a coat,” I warn you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine,” you insist with an aggravated drawl. That is also very </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is Winter,” I remind you, sitting with an arm on the couch and looking up at you without making eye contact. “It is Winter, and it is nighttime, and you should never bank on your date having attire to keep you warm.” I raise a knowing eyebrow. “No matter how excited you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be great,” you say with excitement. “Like, I still can’t believe it. I met the one woman in the city who dresses better than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You technically haven’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>met </span>
  </em>
  <span>her yet,” I point out. Sometimes you need reminders like this, and I am happy to oblige. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talk on Bumble!” she argues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yet that is not the same as a meeting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You sigh. “You’re so pedantic,” you complain, yet there’s something that seems resigned to affection about it. Perhaps that is my favorite thing about you- whether you like it or not, you are kind. You and I both have to fight to let ourselves be kind- you’d rather be angry and venomous, and admittedly I fail to remember to vocalize it often. Still, as I am keen to appreciate you, I do appreciate your kindness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You look up at the clock. “Fuck me,” you groan. I shall not, but I still turn a bit red at the idea. It may have crossed my mind before, the logistics and realistic prospects of doing such, but I think exposing the way my mind absently fills out details of the absurd would be more embarrassing to me than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late to not be suspect, I ask “what is the matter, Selena?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally,” you respond. “I was like ‘earth to Beruka?’” You plop down on the couch next to me with enough force to dislocate throw pillows. “I just saw the clock. I have thirty minutes left to go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” I’ve no desire to point out that you jumped the gun. It seems that you are well aware. Besides, you seem happy- well, as happy as you can get, I suppose. Your happiness comes hand in hand with antsiness, as though you cannot believe it. If I were you, I would, but I know that it is a lot to ask. It seems as though every time the curtain raises for you, you can only wait in fear for it to drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t like it for you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where shall the two of you be going?” I ask. I’d rather occupy your mind; you can get caught up in negative thoughts otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s, uhm…” You visibly think. I do so enjoy seeing you perform gestures with your fingers that I cannot trace. The mystery of your thoughts invokes my curiosity. “Okay, you know that place where we stop for coffee a lot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we can call what you order coffee,” I point out with a slight tease. I am bad at teasing, but I find that if I say true things with a smirk, it suffices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You swat at me. It doesn’t hurt. You are very strong and far more suited for manual labor than you act, but I have far too much time performing the same factory job to be affected by your strength. “Okay, that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>not the point.” Tossing your hair over your shoulder: “Anyway, you know the Japanese restaurant in the same building?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In passing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, she placed a reservation for us there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hmm, impressed with this mystery date. It is a rather pricy restaurant. Had I better financial abilities, I would take you to a place like that. Maybe not that particular restaurant. Thai food is more your speed; I think the only thing drawing you to this particular restaurant is that it is prestigious and someone is covering your bill. I’ve noticed your habit of eating after you get home from dates, but when I press you on why you often come back from them hungry, you tell me it’s none of my business. It has too much venom to be believable. It’s performative, and sadly, it has yet to work on me. You surely will have to realize this soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, you should consider yourself lucky that I am not more invasive. Were that the case, I would ask you if your date treated you right. If they were respectful to you. I analyze these things very mechanically in my head. Did they talk over you? Were they receptive to any vibes that you put out? Did they respect your interests? You are very insecure over said interests, but mask it with forcefulness. I know better, but I know that they would need time to and though so many dates seem to accomplish little more than free meals for you, I have decided to still have faith. I believe that someone will have a lasting romantic interest in you for the woman that you show. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is easier to have faith when I, too, have a romantic interest in you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find that in the silence, I have stolen a glance at you. My glances are never dead-on, but you still notice this one. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am simply thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just wondering why you’re looking at me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No particular reason,” I respond. I hope I am not blushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always say that,” you bite back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is always the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmhmm…” You shrug like you know it’s a lie, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the truth. Still, I decide not to press it and instead lean over the arm of the couch. I am wearing a gray hooded sweater and a ripped pair of jeans. I am… tired, I suppose, but I am not sure why. Perhaps I wish I were doing something of note. On a day like today, it is assumed that you are supposed to. Maybe I have already resigned the day to be over and it is time for me to wait out the clock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You seem to pick up on that. Casually leaning on your side arced towards me, you ask “So… what are you doing tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. It is oddly weighty. “Nothing of note, in all likelihood. I believe I will spend the night with a bowl of cereal and perhaps some mechanical documentaries.” With a small crack of a smile: “That is if I wish to treat myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You crack one that reads mine. It's nice because I feel like I am in your company. "Yeah, 'cause you're a dork." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tsk playfully. "You have your methods of enjoyment and I have mine." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You swat at me again. I like it. "Hey, don't knock it until you try it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my head semi-casually to look up at you. "If I ever get any desire to, I likely would." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously isn't your thing?" you ask. Oddly, though we've been roommates for a year and a half, this is the first time you've taken my growing inferences on the matter and addressed them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I think. It does not sound appealing. The type of person I am doesn't dress up. They don't know etiquette in even the flimsy ways that you try to acknowledge for the first ten minutes of every date (or so I gather from your eagerness to recount the bad dates you had just been on). Their interests are unconventional, they care too much about the way things work and social conventions that they cannot follow. They are neither man nor woman, certainly not as feminine as you are. They are not altogether pretty and are rather at peace with that. They are not the best at conversation. What they are… is probably the kind of person that would be nice for a very specific and unknown someone to have, but unfortunately, I only actively desire to have you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm still waiting for that to go away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Perhaps if…" I crinkle my nose. "Perhaps if you found me a fellow science nerd and locked us in this room, we could watch documentaries for a few hours and they wouldn't have to talk with me more than they wanted." You giggle-snort in a way that says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course, that's the closest thing to your ideal date. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughtlessly, I add "Or hear me talk, at that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, your face shifts to anger, but perhaps it is more than that. Perhaps it falls. "Oh, hush up, Rukie," you respond with softness preventing your venom. "There are definitely people who'd dig a girl like you." You think for a second. "I got that backward. Fuck, I’m sorry." I beam a little. You're remembering. I feel oddly honored that someone would think of how properly to address my identity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And yet you are of the same mind regarding yourself," I point out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You gulp. More to the point, you gulp loudly. "Howsat?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What I mean is that you also seem to feel negative about how others perceive you," I counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You snap your fingers, but you shake your head rapidly before you say anything, your dress whirling to grasp at your thin and shapeless form. "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>gonna let you work me up before I go," you declare. "Besides, it always seems like it's more with you. Like…" You seem to get it. Or, at the least, </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>though I'm not sure that it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Do you still think people will judge you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh… maybe you did. At the very least, I can't hide how I lean my head up and turn it towards you, my pale blue bob almost out of place by a few hairs. "How so?" I ask. It's not a challenge; I'd genuinely like to know how you read me. If nothing else, it will be useful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You elect to shrug again. "I don't know. It seems like you treat yourself like a hopeless cause. Like, why bother trying, you know?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop to think aloud. Quite visibly too; irreverently, you tell me "don't hurt yourself now." I snort; the teasing has your flavor in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose that I don't have any interest in trying, nor much favor that I could easily align with people," I admit. "However, even if I were a hopeless cause I don't feel much shame in that. I'm just wired differently." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a statement that I should believe more than I do. I will leave it at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You aren't fully satisfied with the answer. I'm not sure if it's because you recognize it as the half-truth that it is or because you want to make a little magic out of it. I'd prefer the latter. If I were to believe anyone could make magic, it would be you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I just don't think that you should do </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>this evening," you finally pitch. "That would be boring and I feel like…" You gesture at nothing again in a vaguely thought-adjusting way. "All that kinetic energy would just store up inside you and that's not good for you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go pale at your </span>
  <em>
    <span>kinetic energy </span>
  </em>
  <span>comment. Maybe that's the reason that the day after your dates, I find an excuse to do some sort of activity out of the house with you that generally finds us at a secondhand store and the same coffee shop we often attend together. Maybe I sense the energy you have around your dates, good or bad, and desire to feel some of that. Only </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn't the kinetic energy of a date. The kinetic energy is </span>
  <em>
    <span>yours </span>
  </em>
  <span>and I suppose I want to make sure a little of it is meant for me. I suppose I'm so spooked by your comment because I am not sure if you would </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>knowing that I am technically possessive, or if I would like it either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I don't respond, you thankfully don't mock me. Instead, you sit back, arms crossed, and with a frankly invasive look diagnose me. You come up short and sigh, to my relief. "You should at least get a drink or two," you suggest. "Pretty sure that there are some good V-Day deals and there's gotta be at least one musical performer. Might be a good way to get your brain going." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I believe were I to sharpen my brain, I'd not do well to use alcohol," I point out, to an exaggerated scoff and third swat. With a tiny deviant smile, I add "but thanks. "I might take you up on that offer." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smile in thanks. You know that when I say that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>might, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean that as an option I will place between eating cereal, watching documentaries about mechanisms working, and worrying a little too much about your safety. (Out of respect, I have not followed you after the first time; your date was impolite but nothing more and you had choice words about how creepy you found my actions. You relented as I'd meant no harm by it and hadn't processed how invasive I was. I still worry, but now it's quiet, as the wounds still linger about my explicitness.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small bit of time goes by. You slowly encroach upon my personal space, leaning into the absent openness of my arms. Strange, with many it would put me on edge, but not you. Then again, my feelings about you are very strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You truly will be warm?" I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously, are you my mother? I'll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>worried about it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because you are reckless. If you're not worried about it, that's only more proof that you should be." </span>
</p><p><span>You blow a raspberry at no one. "Jesus, you really </span><em><span>sound </span></em><span>like</span> <span>my mother." </span></p><p>
  <span>I place a hand on your scarf. You shift your weight then look down at it. It is a nice scarf. "Then if I sound the part, what harm is there in playing the part? And your mother says 'put on some warm clothes.'" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever, Rukes." You are not going to dress appropriately. I can hear the finality in your tone. At least you admit it now. A pang hits my heart like a wave, and it feels like it </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be telling me something, but I cannot tell whether it is pleasant or unpleasant, so I elect not to read into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Seriously," you insist. "Treat yourself right, okay? You should…" You place your hand on my chest below my shoulder, uncharacteristically gentle. You often are with me. Is it unique to me? I gasp, but you are used to it and know that I am not disapproving, just… unused to touch. "It's a day. And you should treat yourself, like…" Gesturing incoherently once more, you say "You deserve it." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That is a nice sentiment." It's not that I don't believe you; I'm indifferent to the matter. I just know that, in my basest of emotions, I would like to treat myself by spending today with you. I don't truly believe that today is a more special day for romance than any other, but perhaps it's the symbolism that counts. Is that vain, to want to let the world know that you are mine? That I am capable?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug it off because there will be a photograph of you in front of the restaurant in a full hour at most as if to tell everyone on your social media apps that you are capable of being here. I suppose we are equal in that regard, at most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You finally relax against my shoulder, looking at the clock. "Ten minutes," you note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not long enough," I whisper. You notice and gently tap me, like a hit but also not. I blush slightly as you were not supposed to hear that, but I suppose it has affected nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It just acknowledges that you make me weaker than I would like to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the ten minutes pass, I think of what to do. We have several varied bags of cereals. I wonder what I would enjoy right now. Perhaps something healthy, as I gravitate to? Or should I do as you suggested and treat myself? We have a small box flavored with cinnamon. Oh, but you do so like it. I may save it for you. I also try to think about what sort of television I could watch. I'd imagine that I would run into many a Valentine's Day marathon, even on channels that do not seem suitable for such. We have a device that lets us stream videos onto our television. Perhaps I shall utilize that. The sounds playing throughout the house can serve to make it feel less alone…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. In that case, should I wish, I should leave the house as you suggested. There is a tavern nearby that serves drinks and food at a reasonable price. The quality is low, but it is satisfactory. Still, I cannot convince myself to. A tavern seems like a likely place to run into other dates, perhaps other couples… and strangely, I do not wish to witness them. In fact, I cannot think of a better way to spend today than the scant few minutes where you rest on my shoulder, my mind falling into silence, where I do not have to think about social norms and what is proper or how to earn affection from you, because for a few moments…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...I have it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You have music on a portable home speaker that I can vaguely hear. A deep-voiced man sings over and over again that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re a wasp’s nest. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Slow, deliberate, like he is proud of the metaphor. If he was writing about you, he should be, but he likely does not know us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In my head, I count every second I spend. It is a nice way to meditate until all of them pass and it is time for you to leave. You sigh, and I smile at that, though I am also unhappy. Shortly after, you stand up with more force than seems physically necessary. "Okay," you breathe, smoothing your dress out. "How do I look?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I observe you. I already think that you look very satisfactory, but I know that if I take an extended assessment, you will feel more comfortable. Besides, it is comforting to have permission to look at you, an enjoyable task as it is. Your dress matches well with your hair, your tights frame your legs vividly and the scarf is in turn very loose. The hat was very nice slumped on my shoulder, but visually I have no opinion on it. The dress is a mixture of skintight around the bust and loose and conelike around the waist. You can be a risky dresser, but that is something you only do after a few dates have passed and you can trust your partner better. I notice that you date a lot of fellow trans people, and you elect to be open about your own identity, so ideally you could trust them not to be judgmental about any differences between you and me, but I know that I am not made to relate to the things that pass through your mind. At the very least, I cannot relate to your secret fear that you do not look very nice, when in fact…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You look beautiful." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words linger for longer than I expect. It is more expressive than I intended, but you smile with more sincerity than I expected, wrapping your scarf around your flushed cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks, Bee." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is now three separate nicknames that you have made from my name. I enjoyed every one, but this one is especially kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stay safe," I remind you. It is nearly a plead, but not noticeably. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, mother," you scoff. "I'll be fine." Then, as if assessing your words to be too rough (they are not, but it is kind of you to think of me), you add "Promise." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We look at each other for a few moments. You look uncertain, but you should not doubt yourself. The food will be nice. Your date should be pleasant. And you look appealing. So I smile, to encourage you. It is strange to be smiling so much, especially since I do not want you to go, but you should want to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You seem to get it. "Take care, okay?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You too." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You are gone way too quickly for my liking. I feel the silence after the front door closes and I do not like it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Your Heart Beats In Double Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I am at unease and I am not very hungry. I have turned the television on and have toured the various channels but find the offerings uninteresting. I suppose I should proceed to the streaming device, and yet I do not desire to. It feels like an unkind conclusion to the night, and you said to treat yourself. I suppose neither you nor I expected such turmoil out of it, but I suppose it can't be helped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am pacing around our small apartment. There isn't much to pace around. We have a small living room with a large box TV. Said room is on a small ring with a hallway that forks out to a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Per your request, I do not invade your privacy, and I trust you to do the same, which you have graciously lived up to. I spend a little time in the bathroom but do not utilize it, and find myself lying on my bed, slightly motion-sick and punch-drunk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My room is rather utilitarian. I don't think that you would find anything of interest were you to invade.  I have no interesting or feminine decorations, or much in the way of decor at all, while your room all but bleeds light and sparkle and many, many pink things. I do not have a secret diary like I assume you do as I internalize my thoughts; were I to vocalize them in some manner I would record them on my laptop computer, which I've password-locked. I do not possess any skimpy clothing or any cute clothing that you could try and fail to embarrass me with. Perhaps one of my headbands has a cartoon kitten on them, but I have publicly worn it with no shame, even to work. You wear more extravagant things to your job as a department store worker with even less shame, despite being in the eyes of the public. Though you sold most of your expensive clothes around the same time that you moved in with me, you still dress well in your secondhand ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You dress to be seen. I dress not to be. Maybe we even each other out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is a nice thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The matter at hand is that I am disoriented and I do not know why. My hand rarely leaves my stomach, as I assume that would help it settle. It doesn’t really. There are no cramps, so I am likely not beginning to menstruate, though I do not rule it out. I do not recall eating anything that would give me food poisoning, though I am too hardy to poison easily. I have visited a doctor recently for a check-up; though I was loath to use my finances on that, you insisted. There’s no reason to question my health, yet this pit is unmistakable and too invasive to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decide that either I lie here with a pained stomach or I pace around some more. The suggestion you made that I leave the house and treat myself sticks in my head as an order that I cannot ignore. After all, you said it, so it is important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am still wearing my hoodie from earlier, but I place a winter jacket on it, don my sleeveless work gloves, and finish it off with knee socks and boots that I must pull my snow pants over. I take a look at my headbands and, with a very negligible blush (I assure you), I find the one with the cat on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that it is easily accessible is not of your concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I place my canvas bag on my shoulder, I will likely not need a tenth of its content, but I must know it is there. How you can leave places with just your wallet and phone is a mystery. Heavens know that you need to carry a purse on you just for the makeup. Assured that my keys and my dagger are easily accessible, I shut every light off in the house and close the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am okay with this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don't think the entire time between home and the nearby tavern. It's a deliberate decision. My thoughts are challenged and lean me more towards that dreaded sickliness that, upon second thought, manifests closer to my heart when I feel it. I am concerned about my health now that I can assess it to a more vital and mysterious organ, but perhaps a good meal at the tavern will soothe or distract me. At this point, I don't care which. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk in. It is not yet too loud. The place is small and not fancy. It looks like a wooded hideaway despite being in the slums, but it makes good use of its bay windows. It is cozier than most similar venues. I do not mind blending into it. No bands are setting up; a shame, I do so enjoy watching the setup. The different machinations that must be followed through in order to create a working musical station fascinate me to see play out. It chafes me when they get things wrong, but I manage not to interfere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit at the front of the bar. It will only be long enough to make an order. I look to see if there are any Valentine's Day specials, but the ones I see are made for couples- buy one, get one half off- and I am neither hungry nor thirsty enough for two. So I order a single lager and a roast beef sandwich. The bartender can sense that I do not wish to make small talk. I am thankful. They take my order, hand me a number, and I take it with a quiet thanks to the table nearest the stage, underneath one extended window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I assess to see if this mysterious pain has gone away. I look across at an empty seat and feel like it has not. I defend myself by staring at the number, handwritten on cardboard. 15. Divisible by three and five, so not a prime number. The one is a single line and the five a mess of curves. This was clearly a replacement for something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, I hear a guitarist clamber into the tavern. I see them briefly converse with the bartender and apologize for being late. "Goddamned bus," she complains. That sounds about right as the bus service is condemnable and I must plan my trips with extra time due to it, though it's clear that the bartender doesn't altogether care. He says something that soothes her and she sighs in relief, jogging over to the stage with a case in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I assess her aesthetically. She is wiry and muscular like a starved fighting dog. Her hair is short, spiky, and blonde. She is as devoted to fashion as you are but in a different way. She wears a sleeveless red leather jacket that emphasizes her small bust as well as very specifically holey and patchy black jeans. She has multiple tattoos, one along the whole side of her arm. It is of a woman holding a knife that looks adorned in rhinestones. As she uses it to get out a guitar from the case, I notice that it is also covered in gems, though a few are missing, chipped away from heavy use. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is objectively pretty, in a very scrappy way. She has personality and laughs at herself in a barking manner. When she stands next to me on the edge of the stage near the speaker, I feel odd to be so close to her and her very vocal breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has trouble plugging into the right AC jack, muttering something about it being a new speaker. It may be new, but I can still see what she should do. Normally, I would be quiet still and let her figure it out. People tend not to like assertive know-it-alls. Still, the pain in my heart keeps intruding like a malformed heartbeat of its own, so I elect to distract myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Allow me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realize she has not yet allowed me by the time I climb to my feet and take a tentative hold of the main cord. "Whoa there!" she says with a barking laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let it go as though it's set to poison me. "Apologies," I say too quietly. Instead, I point to the correct slot. "You would want this one." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh yeah?" she asks lazily. Not seeing much alternative other than to ignore me, she follows my suggestion, plugging the cord in. I realize that her guitar is strapped to her shoulder when, after feedback that fazes neither of us, she plays a couple of chords and I hear them through the speaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grins. "Hell yeah, thank you…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beruka," I clarify. "And you are welcome." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She holds her hand out. "Scarlet. Nice to meet you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take it and let her shake with vigor. I decide not to forget her name. "Nice to meet you as well." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets me go and gestures to the stage. "I probably should…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Catch you later, Bear!" Funny, she did not ask if she could jump directly to a nickname, but I do not mind. Scarlet is the type of woman where I can immediately tell who she is, and any questions I have will freely be filled in before I have the chance to ask. Apparently she is the type to nickname people who do not seem like the type to appreciate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, save for the fact that I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully she retreats to the stage before I notice that I am blushing. What a fascinating woman. I listen absently to her start to strum at the guitar. It's an aimless test. She doesn't say anything to announce her presence, so I suppose it announces itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually she plays. If I am not mistaken, it is a cover of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Addicted to Love. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her voice is rather smooth, but there's just enough roughness to give it character. The microphone barely raises it above her guitar. I wonder if the mixing is bad. It likely is. Yet I still enjoy her singing. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You like to think you're immune to this stuff, oh yeah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it's closer to the truth to say that you can't get enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You're gonna have to face it; you're addicted to love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. I feel like I felt her gaze on me as she sang, but no matter. Though it makes me curious; do I look like a love fool? Again, it is not a challenge. I simply wonder how this woman sees me. Truth be told, I might just be immune. A shame, really, that my body rejects the fancy-free absurdities of love. I should like to be a little looser in that regard, though I'd hope to stop short of becoming a full-blown addict. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I think about you again. I am not a fool for you. I could never be. I think that would be letting you off too easily. Still… I think I am mentally a little invested in being your partner. Perhaps a little too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank goodness my meal is here. The bartender sets my sandwich and drink down quietly. I wonder if just one glass of alcohol will affect my mental state, but perhaps it is already affected, so I take a sip. It is a little bitter, but it doesn't affect me, and I've no work tomorrow so there will not even be a trace of a hangover, though my body repels those. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The lights are on, but you're not home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your will is not your own.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your heart sweats, your teeth grind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Another kiss, and you'll be mine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks at me again. I wish I could return it in time. Hah, does she think that of me already? It will take more than a kiss to make me </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone's. </span>
  </em>
  <span>There is no guarantee that she'd want to make me hers in the first place, or if I desire to be anyone's but yours...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...why am I arguing with song lyrics? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take another drink. My heart beats in double time for a few moments, then you leave my thoughts again. Then, as soon as it gets quiet- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excuse me, ma'am." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up to see another woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I sit here?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to point out that there are plenty of empty tables, but that seems like an incorrect course of action. Instead, I say "you may". </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Many thanks." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her visible eye or even the skin around the fringe that covers her right eye. She has a plate with a side salad that is barely touched and yet seems too small. She sets it across from me and takes the far seat from me. I wonder if she is already drunk, to ask to accompany a stranger, but at a glance, she seems sober. Painfully sober. Like she would prefer not to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pardon me," she continues apologetically. "I've been waiting here for my…" She doesn't continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is nice to meet you," I say automatically. She is a little caught off guard, so I say nothing more in the hopes that I do not embarrass myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure to meet you too,” she responds, toying at her salad. “My name is Kagero. What’s yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am Beruka.” I take another sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Beruka.” Kagero smiles between painted black lips. She is also very beautiful. She is the type of beautiful that I feel would spoil us both. She is a young Japanese woman with eyes like caramel and a black side shave that leads to both fringe and a ponytail. She’s dressed in Earth Tones from her sweater to skirt to a uniquely patterned scarf, invoking the memory of autumn and your insistence that such colors were "in" as the leaves fell. Her bust is very big; I noticed that fourth and you would probably notice that first in a mixture of lust and insecurity; I wish you wouldn't worry, but it is what it is. Though I can't say I'm accustomed to how easily and happily I notice how shapely she is in general. I push it to the back of my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is there someone I should look out for on your behalf?" I ask as soon as I remember that she was waiting for someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rankles her nose. "In all honesty, I'd rather you didn't. My partner… they said they might show up tonight if they could." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think. "That seems like bad candor on their behalf." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero nods with a sigh, eating another bite of salad. It seems like she has a set of thoughts that she would like to avoid sharing. I respect that, and yet I do not like how stressed she looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you do not take such a gesture to be presumptuous, perhaps I could buy you a drink? Then perhaps you can relax. I don't wish to make you tell me anything you don't wish to." The words spill forth a bit too quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero smiles. "I would like that very much, but I'd hate to make you spend on me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It is a decision I make freely," I clarify. "There is a deal on drinks today since it is Valentine's Day." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I remember," she says with a hint of malice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I apologize." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs. "No, I do. I suppose…" Her grimace turns into a smile. "I suppose I really am grateful for the drinks, after all." With a quick laugh that builds on itself like wind chimes, she warns "I just would like to apologize if they make me more bitchy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head. "You should be fine. I'm also not sure if I would use that word to describe you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero nods. She tries not to grimace, but I wouldn't mind if she did. "I forget that some people don't prefer to swear." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't have a preference for it either way," I answer after another sip. "But that is not what I meant." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>you mean it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm not used to someone inquiring into how I view things. It took you a while to try that out with me. I'm not sure why she does. Perhaps she is just bored. Still, I oblige. "You do not strike me as an angry person at the core. You strike me as a perfectly nice person who has, in this situation, been made angry and does not enjoy the bitterness that she feels. It's as though you’ve had treacle shoved in your mouth." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero thinks. Her eventual smile deems my answer satisfactory. I am grateful for this. "Perhaps so," she finally says. "I certainly would like it if it were an exception." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"My roommate is the same way," I offer. Then, with a guilty smile, I admit "Though more frequently, I'll admit." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero giggles. "I should love to meet her sometime." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. It is an interesting idea. I'm not sure how you two would feel about each other, but I like Kagero already, so I should hope that it would go well. I fear that your likely attraction to her would manifest as jealousy as it too often does, and I would like to keep you both as friends. Well… as something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitstaff comes by and I flag them down. They pull forward and ask "Can I help you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at Kagero, prompting. She folds her hands underneath her chin and, after time, suggests "I don't suppose you have any taste for ciders? They're my personal favorite." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have no objections."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Excellent." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We order our drinks. As the waitstaff leaves, Kagero says "I'm buying the second round." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I chuckle. "I can drink an awful lot before I get tipsy. It is due to a strong constitution, I believe." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're in good hands." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a nice idea. I think that I will believe that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute passes. We nibble at our food, but both of us are transparently thinking too hard to really dig into it. Eventually, I point to your scarf if only because conversation should probably be made and my thoughts seem to trigger the pain in my chest. "I'm curious as to where you got that." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes. "Huh…" An answer doesn't cross her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't have to tell me if you don't wish to." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't mind," she insists. "It just… might be embarrassing." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I doubt that," I say, but honestly I'd be very intrigued if it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It probably isn't extraordinarily so," she admits, toying with the fork. "I do… dabble artistically. Painting, first and foremost. Though I admit I've tried many methods at least once. This is sewn based on a design I did. I don't often sew, but… I do hope it turned out okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"May I see it?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero thinks for a second. I expect her to tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but she disrobes and hands it to me. I observe it as a scarf first- a gray and tan oblong thing clearly hand-stitched into a ghostlike pattern- then as a whole fabric that I stretch out over my shoulders. "There is something very mistlike about it," I conclude, taking care not to inadvertently lower it into my drink. "If I were to guess…" I slow, fearing the idea of getting it wrong "It seems like it's a barren wintry scene, though a snowless one obscured by fog." I blush, only now realizing how important it is to be right. I should like to impress her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero smiles. Maybe I'm on the right track. "I'm not sure if that was the interpretation I went for," she admits. "Mostly, it was… feelings, I guess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brow furrows before I can help it. "Ah. Selena </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>say that I can be quite literal-minded." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Selena?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blush. Mentioning her is too much of a given. If you talk about Beruka, you talk about Selena. "My, ah, roommate." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero gives me a look that knows better yet does not judge. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, but…" She twirls her fringe around her finger. Her right eye is as lovely as her left. "I'd like to preface this by saying that I do not judge you. I, ah… I should specify that I expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>of my partners to show tonight. I have multiple." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand that." I do not talk with you too much about having multiple partners. I supposed that I would cross that bridge when I acquired </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>partner. I cannot say that I wish to talk about you, though, so I deflect. "The one you expected to show, though…" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighs and says nothing. I dutifully hand her scarf back to her. She takes it, immediately brightening. "He's never taken a shine to my art," she admits. "I'm not sure any of my partners have. Others try, but… he doesn't." She puts it back on her neck. "Not like you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh." My speech capabilities end there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a cheeky grin, she adds "I honestly hope he never shows up. It's… a lot more fun spending time with you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My speech capabilities are not about to come back, are they? I blush deeply. Try for words, but they do not properly materialize. I'm not used to being complimented like this. It is hard to process. She gives me a look that understands, one a little too proud of herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downing the rest of her cider with admirable steel, she says "I'm pretty sure that the guitarist is serenading us." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tilt my head towards her. She's singing about the moon. I suppose there's something romantic about it. I try not to be literal-minded. I try to think like Kagero.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey moon,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I was to fall,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I would fall so deep. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Huh." It's nice and calm. It is not the type of music I expected her to perform. She has her eyes closed as she sings this time, as though to calm her nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You can wake me up if you wanna. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'd hate for you to hang there alone the whole night though. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Kagero is thinking up her next art piece. I wish I could capture the song and give it to her, a pin in her memory. I'll trust her to do that instead. I'm not sure how I feel about it myself, but it is nice to not be left alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you have any plans tonight?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head and finish my sandwich. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a place near…" She thinks and counts on her fingers. "Relatively nearby, that tends to treat my muse well." I wonder if a muse is how she addresses one of her partners. I decide it doesn't immediately matter; she likes them and that's all I need to know. "I don't suppose you'd like to go?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprised, I point at myself. She nods and I say "Absolutely." I'm a little stymied that I've been myself the entire time and yet a very attractive and interesting woman has in turn taken a notable interest in me. I wonder if I could be a muse of hers in time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of us get up. I go to pay the tab. I feel another bubbling shake in my stomach as I do, but I don't resent it. It does make it hard to talk to the bartender, but he doesn't address it. When I return, Scarlet isn't performing, and she and Kagero are talking. I'm intrigued. Soon, Scarlet hands her a card and says something vaguely flirtatious. A nice idea. I suppose I should feel jealous but I honestly do not feel that way. I know who's leaving with Kagero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I walk up behind Kagero. We exchange a smile and she casually shows me a business card. It's Scarlet's. "I'm an event performer," the guitarist explains. "If you ladies ever get married or whatever, hit me up." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I giggle. How absurd, the idea of the two of us getting married anytime soon when we have just met. Still, I take a card. It's relatively formal and does not smack of her identity, but it has her number and social media, which is efficient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Keep us updated," I request. The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>us </span>
  </em>
  <span>slips out, but Kagero does not correct it. I am thankful for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Absolutely," she says with a grin, eyes closed. "I definitely didn't expect to catch the eye of two bodacious babes when I ran in today, but I'm grateful!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kagero shakes her head, not quite believing she means it. I'd tell her that Scarlet is right, but I'm not sure I believe that I am a bodacious babe either. Still, we have time to figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of us wave goodbye and I prepare to figure out what it's like to be her muse. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Real Human Being</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I am glad that Kagero stopped herself from saying that the place was nearby because it is not. It is about a mile away, and it is a walk that I can weather, though Kagero is… less equipped, I shall say. I was unaware that she did not wear appropriate shoes for a mile walk, though I can't imagine that she anticipated everything that happened tonight. </p><p>I take off my winter jacket and hand it to her. I am short, but it should mostly fit her. She takes it with a smile, thanking me kindly.</p><p>"Of course," I respond. </p><p>It takes her a bit to put it on. I'm not too much colder without it, and she manages to still look nice despite the jacket's lack of frills. When she walks again, she grabs my arm for support. I try not to blush, but I certainly regain any lost warmth. </p><p>Kagero is, unlike me, a bit of a light drinker. She's simply tipsy, but I do not think that she is normally so clumsy. Is she normally this affectionate? Does she normally hold onto people and transmit little touches to their arm? No, I think, much like how she rejects bitterness unless it is forced, she seems to dislike affection until her mind gets the better of her. I'm not an affectionate person, nor do I often receive affection unless you are in a giving mood. Then again, you always were a personal exception. Kagero is new to me, and I quite like how affectionate she is.</p><p>We do not talk very much, but I cannot say I mind.</p><p>"There it is."</p><p>She points at an entrance to the Hoshidan Gardens. What I remember of the map of the city led me to believe that we were heading here. I have not visited it personally, but I believe people when they say it is nice. I believe that this is the type of place where Kagero would be artistically inspired. Her and her muse. </p><p>Indeed, as we enter, passing under the arch of the torii, she reanimates. "I find that the gardens here tend to accelerate my emotions to…" She gestures like you do. "Artistic extents. They reflect my moods very well." </p><p>I smile as we walk past a patch of lilies. Though the moonlight is nice, it is aided by many a spotlight. This is a community garden, so it is open until late at night to anyone. "It is lovely here. I've never really acknowledged how much your surroundings reflect your emotions, but I think on a technical level, I understand it." I do not touch anything like she does; it might be against the rules, but I don't see a reason to call it out. "Human beings are fascinating." </p><p>She looks at me, hand gently on a lily petal so as not to disrupt anything. "Quite fascinating."</p><p>I wonder if I should read into that. </p><p>She takes out her phone. "If you do not mind," she says, turning the camera on. </p><p>"You likely won't get anything high quality with this lighting," I caution her. "That being said, I do not mind at all." Her beam is enough for me to continue, though it is not advisable. "I'd honestly hoped for you to remember some of the songs Scarlet played for artistic purposes." </p><p>She coos. "That's very kind of you." </p><p>I find myself flushing. "I, uh… am not sure what purpose it served to tell you, now that I think of it." </p><p>"It's fine," she says with a beam. "You are very considerate." </p><p>"You're just enjoyable to think about," I explain. She gasps too loudly to be inconspicuous, triggering my fear. "Oh, did I-" I correct myself. "Is something wrong?" </p><p>Kagero shakes her head. "Decidedly not. I'm just… unused to someone being this kind to me." </p><p>I furrow my brow as we approach a koi pond. Surely I'm not exceptionally kind, am I? I might be, driven by affection like I am. Kagero has arrested my attention instantly, whereas you took your time to worm into my affections. Both of the sensations are very good. I am overwhelmed by a desire to thank them both. Yet you are on a date, and your affections for me are uncertain, tied into the pit in my stomach when it grows sour. I do not wish to focus on that. </p><p>"You absolutely deserve someone being that kind to you," I explain, taking in the residual of the cool liquid near my feet. "I'm… not used to the idea of…" I gesture as if I'm finding words. (So that's why you and Kagero do so.) "I guess… being the one to display kindness. I always see it as just… saying the things applicable to the situations." </p><p>"O-oh…" Kagero is again surprised at my words. I'm not used to this on any level, and I'm motion-sick again. I'm not sure whether it's good or bad, but it's certainly not comfortable.</p><p>I'm not sure if that's good or bad either.</p><p>"Thank you," she tells me. "I'll remember that." </p><p>"You will?" </p><p>She nods. "Like the songs. Like the gardens. I'll remember." </p><p>I feel a unique chill. I assume it's because I gave her the jacket. "That's very kind of you." I like the idea of being remembered. I hope she remembers me. </p><p>We pass the pond and are surrounded by more plants. It is not quite cherry blossom season yet, but the lights nearby illuminate how close they are to bloom. I notice Kagero takes pictures of things that decay, that look close to death, that are not conventionally beautiful. Withered plants at the edge or encasements, trampled petals on the muddy pathways, the surroundings over unofficial paths. As I look through the garden dutifully, I realize that I'm not entirely certain at what I find beautiful, but I like her interpretation. </p><p>And her eagerness to take photos, the toothy smile she wears as she zeroes in on something like a hunter to prey… it is something I find beautiful. </p><p>I feel her gaze on me and face her, alert. She aims her camera on me and says "Don't worry, I was going to ask." A little nervously, she adds "as silly as it is." </p><p>"I, uh…" I question her decision greatly. I am not photogenic, nor am I beautiful, and I'm not sure why she assumes that I am. Suddenly, I'm a tad embarrassed to be wearing my cat headband. I suppose I didn't expect any of this either. "It's not silly. I'm not sure what you're thinking, but… I would be glad to help." </p><p>Kagero smiles, blushing. "You can resume what you're doing." </p><p>I nod, but it is difficult to try to act naturally when I know that a camera is trained on me, and I know that I am not objectively beautiful. Yet, to Kagero… am I? Am I as beautiful to her as withered plants, trampled petals, and unofficial paths? Does she find similar beauty to me as I find myself looking at the barely blooming cherry blossoms, hands in my pocket, short blue bob organized and static, wondering what my place in the evening is? </p><p>I don't figure it out by the time we sit down.</p><p>I allow her to sift through and analyze her photos, repeatedly flipping her hair to get the fringe out of her eye. I wander onto a social media platform and look at the offerings of the official accounts that I follow. They provide diagrams about how things work. I already know most of them already, but I enjoy them as much as I do the new ones. You've yet to post from the restaurant, but perhaps I should give you time before you show off, though I've never needed to be patient.</p><p>Absently, I look up Scarlet from memory after I realize that her card is in the jacket that Kagero is wearing. She poses with her guitar in many shots, slightly provocatively dressed in a strongly female-centric way; I still admire it. When I find her, I work on a hunch and look up Kagero. She is also easy to find as she's the only Kagero in the city with an account. In her shots, she looks warm and pleasant, and her art makes up a few of them. It's clear that she doesn't expect to go professional, and often the only person to react to them is a violet-haired woman named Orochi. Maybe Orochi is the muse. </p><p>I react with a heart to my favorite art piece, a painted picture of a dead piece of bramble on a dirt patch. It is stark and contrasts well. Her work is all wonderful, but I do not think that she would believe me if I reacted to them all. </p><p>Indeed, her phone vibrates and she beams. It is more luminous than her phone light. <em> I </em>did that. "Sneaky," she comments with ardor in her voice. Soon, she has followed me back. It is relieving. Now we won't lose each other. Maybe there is something to be said about a mysterious chance encounter between two romantics, but I've never been fond of how those fantasies end with the two parting ways and never seeing each other again. This isn't as poetic, I suppose, but it is practical to see Kagero again, and I appreciate it. </p><p>"I know we haven't yet," I start, clearing my throat. “Left each other, obviously, but…” I clear my throat again. Why is this so hard to say? Is it that I would like to be committed to her, yet at the same time would like to be committed to you, yet I do not know how you would feel about it? You are… such a part of my life, in a way that Kagero is not yet and likely, will not be. I can tell that Kagero has other muses that will supersede me, like Orochi; that is okay. If things were to fall through with her tonight, the disappointment would be something I could swallow. If things were to ever fall through with you… would I choke?</p><p>I feel that I would, but it is best to phrase such things as hypotheticals. </p><p>I look at Kagero again, who has looked at me as I have gone silent. I fear that, like you, she has gone straight into her own mind. Fear is prevalent on her face, to be sure, which I am remorseful for, but I am not a liar. “I absolutely want to see you again, Kagero. Quite often, if you have the time and patience. I just… may need you to be patient with me for many reasons.” </p><p>Kagero nods, as if it is actually that simple. “How so?”</p><p>I look at the ground. There is nothing there, but it helps as I do not have to fear seeing myself disappoint Kagero. “I am… not the most social person on Earth. I understand social norms but struggle to apply them to myself. A lot of the things I do know do not really capture the interests of most.” </p><p>“Like my artwork.”</p><p>“Unfortunately,” I respond bitterly. “I still think that they are missing out.”</p><p>I hear Kagero flip her hair again. The repetition is comforting. “As I sure many are missing out on a girl like you.”</p><p>“Person,” I correct. “I have no gender.” </p><p>“Person,” she repeats without a fuss. </p><p>I smile. “But thanks.” I’m not sure if I am being flattered at first, but when I look up at Kagero, she looks sincere. I can see it in her eyes. Their honesty disarms me. I believe that she does honestly like me, and I think that, judging by her body language- how she beams at me, how she decides to place her hand on my knee, how she starts to encroach on my personal space, that it goes beyond the platonic. </p><p>I do not mind it either, so I likely am beyond platonic affection as well. I just do not feel it appropriate to pursue that desire just yet. </p><p>“I suppose I should also…” I gesture. “Figure out what to do about this… roommate situation.”</p><p>Kagero looks up. “I have a question. Is she actually your roommate?” </p><p>I nod. “I will admit…” I look down again and cannot finish the sentence. </p><p>“It’s okay,” she says. “I <em> did </em>think that you two were… well, romantically entangled, but I was still interested. That’s…” I look up as she, too, freezes, a look of fear on her face. “Oh, Gods, I didn’t mean to, uhm… I assumed your situation was similar to mine.”</p><p>It takes me a second of highly visible thinking to piece together her fear. “Oh, oh no, don’t worry,” I say, waving my hands as if to stop something from hitting us head-on. Alarm hits my body. “I wouldn’t be opposed to having a situation like yours, honestly.”</p><p>“Perhaps not too much like mine,” she cautions. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to give you the impression that I was pushing too much on something you did not want. I dislike being too forward. People come to…” She slacks. I feel like her ghost has left her body. “I guess, expect me to be trying to prey on them.”</p><p>“I never felt that way,” I respond. I clap your knee as well. “That is as honest as I can be. If I portrayed nerves, then it’s only because this was a situation I was unused to, and because I still was unsure what to do about Selena, and unfortunately, that is a big part of this equation.”</p><p>Kagero seems to get a little life back in her eyes. “That’s… well, part of that is good. I, ah… well, I fear a lot that…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, but whatever she feared was not something I felt, so I just stroke her knee again. I am not physically affectionate, but maybe this will help build that energy up until I decide to kiss her. She is sated enough to change the subject. “Perhaps I could help you with this… roommate situation?” </p><p>I shrug. “I am not very sure what there is to help. I honestly only now have realized that something needs to change there.” </p><p>Kagero turns to me. “If you could change things in that situation, what would you change?”</p><p>I think. “I suppose, were I to change a thing… there are a lot of things about our relationship that I do enjoy. I enjoy how she has learned about me and has never judged me for the things that are objectively odd to many. I appreciate how she works around me and works to make our living situation mutually comfortable. I enjoy her attitude, even though she would consider it foul. It’s a challenge, but one I do not feel like results in a bad loss. I like things that remind me of her, and I like the things that she makes feel like her. It isn’t really something I can ascertain as something that makes sense, but the things make me very happy. I feel like… though I technically am her roommate, she is the most important person to me, and of everyone I met, she is the first to be supportive to me, and I would very much like to be her partner.” </p><p>I worry that something I say somewhere will disappoint Kagero if she is one to compare herself to others, but when I meet her eyes, she is very endeared. “I hope I don’t sound condescending,” she starts, “but that is incredibly damn adorable.” </p><p>I am flustered, and whatever words I plan to say don’t pan out into actual words. I do manage to sputter out “Th-thanks,” turning as red as your own hair. How quaint, the idea of me being adorable. </p><p>Kagero moves her hand to my shoulder. I lean in a little closer, much like you did when resting on my shoulder. I am interested in how we are so physically close when talking about a second love interest of mine. “So… what are the odds that she would reciprocate?”</p><p>I shrug. “I would like to think that they are decent. It’s just that I…” Then I turn my head down, fearful. </p><p>Kagero is the one to tilt my head up gently. “It’s okay,” she says. </p><p>“I have been open about how… surprised I am by your affection and kindness,” I confess. “That is because… as I said, she is the first person who showed me the respect that I guess I…” The words feel like rocks in my throat, and my stomach contents swing wildly above a pit. “I… never knew…” I am so slow to say this because I feel the fear. I feel the way my heart beats rapidly and I know why it does. “That… I… wanted. I thought…” My voice is monotone because I am warding off emotion. “That I… could, you know… do without. I… cannot.” </p><p>“Oh, baby…” Kagero rests my head on her bosom. I do not mind too much. I am only slightly blushing. “I have always felt that one of the perks of being, well… poly, I suppose you could say-”</p><p>“Polyamorous is the correct term,” I confirm. I know what it’s like to be nervous to use a label, but things became a lot easier for me when I said that I had no gender. Then I go white. “Apologies for interrupting, Kagero.”</p><p>She nods sweetly. “No, I appreciate it. I, ah… no, what I meant to say was that… it is lovely to hear of someone else’s romantic stances, the contents of their heart, where neither one is consumed by shame or jealousy. It honestly…” She strokes my hair once. I show positive affirmation, and she continues to. Words are not necessary. </p><p>“Maybe sometime you can tell me about your muse,” I suggest. “This… Orochi person on your pieces.”</p><p>“Perceptive,” she notes, giggling. “I do believe she will be glad that you called her that.” I don’t tell her that I thought that she already called Orochi her muse in the first place. She looks me in the eye again, which is easier to do in this position. “If I can ask one more question about Selena…”</p><p>My heart resumes its hasten. “You likely should,” I say, in response to my own palpitations. </p><p>“You are in love with her.” It is not a question, it is a statement. I wish I could argue the point because it exposes me far too easily to be in love with anyone. Still, I cannot. I suppose I am in love with you, Selena. I just needed a prospective lover to tell me. </p><p>She chooses her next words gingerly. “Will you... be... okay... if she doesn’t reciprocate?”</p><p>I don’t know how to answer that, but I tremble. I tremble in a way that she can’t not notice. I tremble because I am weak. I am weak because I feel like I am loved. I am weak because if I am wrong… if this is all a cruel trick… if I was finally awakened to this feeling of love… of being in love… only for it to lead me astray…</p><p>“I don’t know,” is all I can say. I won’t be, but I cannot admit that. I guess I am not as honest as I think. To turn it around, I add “I might be a bit of a chore for a while,” with an awkward laugh. I don’t believe it and I am not surprised that Kagero doesn’t buy the deflection either. </p><p>“This is a feeling I understand too well. I understand why you are scared, and what you are scared of. And I feel like I would be treating you like a fool if I were to say that these things are immaterial in any way.”</p><p>I nod in appreciation. I sort of wish that they <em> would </em>be immaterial, but I am thankful that she does not patronize me. </p><p>“All I can say is that… if you <em> do </em>go for it right now, then either the pleasure starts now, or the pain does. It doesn’t wait for a less opportune moment.”</p><p>I find no fault in her statement, so I nod. </p><p>“And honestly, no matter what, I can promise that I will be here for you. Though I recommend that you tell her, the offer will stand in the case that you do not. So please, don’t worry that you’re annoying me.”</p><p>She looks down. I creep closer towards her downturned chin. I am quite small, aren’t I? </p><p>“I know the feeling of being made to feel like a nuisance. I don’t want you to feel the same way just because you’re human.”</p><p>“I <em> am… </em>” It’s not quite a statement or a question. I suppose I never thought of myself as a human being before, so it is probably a realization. “Thank you, Kagero.”</p><p>“What for?” </p><p>“I think… tonight, I am feeling more like a human being than I ever have. And I, uh-”</p><p>My thoughts linger when my phone vibrates hard enough for me to feel on my waist through my pants pocket. “I need to take this,” I say apologetically, though I do not think she reacts to that. It is all right. We all have our moments. </p><p>I go to answer the call, but it is not a call. It is a text. Moreover, it is a text from <em> you. </em></p><p>
  <em> where are you </em>
</p><p>It is not often that you text me. You know that I prefer to talk via telephone. You always seem nervous at first when you call me, so perhaps I should stop requesting that. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. I think that I just prefer to hear your voice. I think that I just like the idea of your breath signifying that… you are near me. I know that… I know that you’re not, and that you are often a way across town, but… you feel close to me. It is a deliberate choice you make… and it serves no purpose but to satisfy me… and maybe… maybe I am a love fool. Maybe I am addicted to love. Or maybe I am just addicted to you. </p><p>Whatever the reason, it feels superfluous now, so I respond to your texts. </p><p>
  <em> The Hoshidan Gardens. They are on Seventy-Ninth and Ione, though perhaps you have heard of them.  </em>
</p><p>I have not set my phone down before it buzzes again. Kagero looks at me as I pick it back up. I spare her an apologetic look before I read the message. </p><p>
  <em> Ok on my way </em>
</p><p>“Why is she on her way?” I ask aloud. This could serve as internal, but I am too confused to leave it to rest in my thoughts. </p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Sh- she said she’s on her way <em> here </em>,” I respond, leaning up. My breath is hastening. This certainly is happening, now, at this very moment, whether I am ready or not. </p><p>Oh. That is… fine. </p><p>That is not as fine as I would like.</p><p>Kagero places a hand on my shoulder. “That is sudden,” she acknowledges in a way that says that I had better be ready. “Still, at least…” Gesturing to the gardens: “The venue is nice?”</p><p>“It is very nice, but unfortunately that is not helping that much.” Though I have never been good at setting or following an aesthetic mood. “Wait, will Selena show up with the date? I’d have to call it off were that the case. It would be a very uncomfortable situation were I to confess in front of-”</p><p>“Beruka,” Kagero says to cut me off. Huh, it is just as it is when I sense that you are about to overthink. My thoughts cease immediately. </p><p>“You’re right. I need to relax.” Yet I cannot. The possibility exists that I am at the height of my feelings for you and unable to express such due to the timing. Then again, what timing is appropriate, considering you are my roommate? Perhaps I should call the entire thing off… perhaps this will not work. Perhaps I should cut my losses and we can continue to live together and I can try to deal with this intermittent burning in my chest, this startling pain that consumes me, but perhaps I just cannot. Perhaps I should not. Perhaps… no, certainly, I cannot lose you either. </p><p>Yet… is this having you?</p><p>I do not think that it is. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Kagero asks, gently tapping my shoulder again. </p><p>“I think so.”</p><p>“You’re shaking,” she says bluntly. </p><p>“I’m-” I <em> am </em> shaking. I am shaking like a branch trying to rid itself of leaves. I am shaking and I cannot stop. I wonder if Kagero slipped something into my drink for a second because I do not <em> shake </em>like this. I am not generally this nervous. If things go wrong in life, they go wrong, and I correct course, but if this- if this goes wrong, then- then- th-then, th-th-then I… I…</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>Somehow I say nothing yet everything at once, and despite wearing so many layers, I am so cold. </p><p>“How long until she will be here?” Kagero is practical; I appreciate that because at this moment I am very much not. </p><p>“I don’t know exactly,” I respond. “Thinking about it, which I should do aloud to occupy my mind… her date was at a restaurant we often see…” I think of the coffee shop. “At around Ninety-ninth and… also Ione? No, Ikona. I believe the two streets are nearby so… presumably, she’s just over a mile away. A short time if by car, but I do not think she’d take a cab, so… I would assume that she would be walking.”</p><p>“A whole mile? That doesn’t make sense.” </p><p>“Sometimes Selena does not make sense.”</p><p>“I see.” Kagero does not even see the half of it, but no matter.</p><p>“Either way…” I sigh. “I suppose that I should meet her at the front. I’ve no idea what kind of state she is in right now…”</p><p>Kagero takes my hand. It is nice and in an ideal world, I would like more of that. I believe that in an ideal world, even if things were to work out between you and me, I would still meet her for drinks every now and again. “Is this something you want to do alone?” </p><p>I think for a second. This is not something I <em> want </em>to do alone, but it is probably something that I should, so I nod. Kagero rubs circles in my hand, and it is tempting to steal more moments there until Selena finds us, but a bad idea nonetheless. I feel so small; I’ve never done this before, and the uncertainty scares me. Usually, I can predict an outcome and adjust accordingly, and I am not the type of person to take high risks. Yet a risk is what I am taking here, and I have no solid ground to land on. </p><p>Still, I say “I should… I should go.” <em> Or I won’t.  </em></p><p>Kagero nods. “If it’s all the same, I might as well. I, ah…” She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “I think I’d like to talk to Orochi. You’ve put some thoughts into my head regarding her that I’d like to pursue.” </p><p>I lean to stand up. “Good thoughts, I hope.”</p><p>“I hope so too,” is all she says. It makes me curious. </p><p>“When I am in a state to hear it, I would love for you to talk about her. So I can get to know her that way.” </p><p>Kagero thinks. I’ll give her time to decide. </p><p>“Maybe about your other partners as well,” I say as I stand next to her. </p><p>We start walking. “Well, after tonight, I am highly considering dumping one of them.”</p><p>I giggle, clear as a bell. “I wonder if I had anything to do with that.” I am getting better at vocalizing my thoughts around her. It took me a few months to do that around you, but the two of you are very different. </p><p>She giggles back. It’s very husky considering the musicality of her voice. “Oh, Beruka… I can neither confirm nor deny.”</p><p>“Confirmed, then.”</p><p>She strokes my hair even as we walk. “Confirmed.”</p><p>It takes us two minutes to reach the front of the park; we did not go in very deeply. I look at her as we reach the front, and am suddenly eager to do two different things- let her leave lest you show up spontaneously, and kiss her to see how she reacts. (As well as, well… to kiss her. I still have desires, as it turns out.)</p><p>“I am not sure if this will turn out well or not,” I admit. “What I do know is that something in this evening turned out very, very well already.” </p><p>Then I wrap my arms around my neck and kiss her. She bends down to kiss me back. It is fleeting and chaste, but for now, it fits. I look at her with a sense of pride and admiration. I still am not sure how on Earth I have made a romantic partner this spontaneously at all, but I am glad. </p><p>“Take care of yourself, Beruka,” she whispers in my ear. “And keep in touch.”</p><p>“I will,” I respond, leaving it ambiguous as to whether or not I will do both. </p><p>She kisses the side of my head and straightens my headband. “Do you want your jacket back?”</p><p>I shake my head. “I have layers. You will get cold.” With a smile, I add “You can return it to me the next time we see each other.”</p><p>Whatever happens.</p><p>She finally zips it up. It is moss green and it suits her. “I will see you then.”</p><p>As she leaves, I smile and wait for it to surrender to nervousness. All I can do at this point is to breathe. Breathe, wait, and remind myself that I am human. I learned, or at least acknowledged, a few things tonight- I am a human being, I am in love, and it is all right to want things.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>did you like how i trojan horse'd a whole ass rarepair under a beruka/selena fic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. They Don't Love You Like I Love You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You are heard before you are seen. “Rukes? Uhh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your voice is teary. It shakes me from the pseudo-meditative state that I am in. “Here I am!” I call, raising my hand to wave. The action gets me out of my funk. “Is, uh, is everything okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your voice is hoarse. “I, uh, I just wanted to talk. Is… is that weird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it isn’t. But your date-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I gasp. The sudden visit, the want to talk, the fact that you did not post your visit to the wall… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no. Did she stand you up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, I see you. You have been crying; that’s how I first acknowledged that you are wearing makeup. Your clothes all still look nice, other than your disheveled scarf. You dab at your eyes with it; I really wish you wouldn’t, as it is a nice scarf. I have seen you emotionally before, but when I do, you actively cry. You do not hide it from me, nor could you. (You couldn’t hide it from anyone, honestly.) Yet you are trying now to act like your crying is over, that you will not again. You haven’t let it all out, and if your date stood you up, you will have to stop us from having words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” you insist. “Don’t worry, Bee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t answer my question. Were you stood up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, can we just not talk about it?” You lean against the pillar of the torii on the entrance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just don’t know why you wanted to see me now. Understandably, I am on guard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From me? That isn’t fair!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>not!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cover my own mouth. I am generally not one to show you anger. I do not even know why I am angry now. I just… am confused, and I know how this night has to end, and the two make the entirety of my internal organs feel flung about, so I suppose I would just like you to solve one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my surprise, it is you who softens. “I’m sorry I’m not making a lot of sense,” you say quietly, shyly. “I… can’t. It’s… complicated, you know? I just…” You beckon me forward. I stand next to you alongside the torii’s pillar, dutiful as a guard dog. “I wanted to see you. Is that all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About a year ago, when you admitted something as vulnerable as this, as vulnerable as not knowing, you ended your statements with a sarcastic, challenging </span>
  <em>
    <span>all right?, </span>
  </em>
  <span>one that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>my life has gone to shit, everything is falling apart, and I am not going to tell the roommate that I am slumming with about it so here, go ahead and try to hate me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe I should have, but I am glad that I didn’t, because instead, they have become little requests, pleads, ones that say </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is where I am, this is who I am, and I hope that is all right with you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The more you say it that way, the more it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I vocalize it. “It is all right, Selena.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Bee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart skips a beat. I do not know the state of my confession right now. I’d expected to know what I am doing going into this, but nothing feels solid and I am only trying not to be flung overboard. To fill the air with words, I ask “are you cold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You snort. “Honey, I have no idea what to do with all this excess estrogen. I’m pretty sure I’m hotter than you right now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did just walk a mile across the city in thirty-degree weather wearing little more than a dress and scarf,” I point out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you I would be fine,” you point out haughtily. I chuckle, resigned to letting you have this victory. “If anything, I’m surprised you didn’t put a jacket on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left with one.” Pointing behind me for little applicable reason, I explain “Kagero has it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kagero?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I met her at the bar,” I say before I can think through the implications. “She is very nice. You should meet her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your face drops. “O-oh.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” Something turned out wrong. I am not sure what it was. “Selena, I feel like I just aggravated something within you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t do anything, Beruka,” you respond coldly, turning away from me and crossing your arms. I’ve long stopped taking such as gestures of anger or spite, but as protection, but that makes the pain more potent because I hurt you. I can deal with angering you, but especially now, I cannot deal with hurting you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I did,” I argue. “And if I did, I am very sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry? For what?!” you burst. “Having a good time? Meeting a cool girl? Having a good Valentine’s Day is exactly what I wanted for you, like, I just didn’t want you to be alone, so this is…” You throw your hands up. “Literally exactly what I wanted or you, and I don’t know why I’m being such a bitch about this, but…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slink down. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slide down to a sitting position. Before I can say anything, you’re crying again, face buried in your arms, too ashamed to show what you cannot deny. I sit next to you, hand on your shoulder. “Please don’t cry, Sele,” I plead. “I’m so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously don’t be sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, okay? I can’t believe I’m crying because you did something nice and…” you sniffle. “I’m so happy. You deserve nice things, Bee. I just… miscalculated, I think, and I got hasty, and if there’s any reason I’m sad, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t respond. So I nod and elect to wait until you feel like responding. Though I wish desperately to ask you again after I feel the sting of your breath, hear the occasional sniffle from your person, I do my best to avoid it. Still, if you can feel the anxiety rippling off of me, it explains why you finally admit it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I left the date.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink. “But… why? Was she…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, she was fine. We… talked. She wasn’t- I wasn’t into her,” you admit. “She was nice, but like… very much like, a mom friend. Not my type. And, uhm… I couldn’t hold out long because I, uh… you know, I kept thinking about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About me?” This is confusing me more by the second, and I am so wrapped up in the confusion that I have forgotten to be sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… and you know, she was understanding. I, uh… I did not want to just ditch her. We talked about it and she knows and… yeah, I’m here.” With a snort: “I was wrong about her having more fashion taste than me, though. She doesn’t even wear shoes most of the time, she said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dodging the point.” And I am extremely confused; please stop that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The point is so goddamn hard,” you complain. “Beruka, I’m shaking just thinking about it. Because it’s true. It’s- I can’t lie. But now I can’t- I’d just make a fool of myself if I did. Especially with this new girl in the picture…” You look at the sky. It is raining, and the ground beneath us will get muddy. “Fuck.” You pull the scarf over your head. I can see the tearstains on your face clearly under the cover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think I have an inkling of what you want to say, but it might be what I want you to say. I feel like I should clear it up… but what if I am wrong? What if I am presumptuous? Yet the power is in my hand to change your perception. I refuse to lie about Kagero, to say that it was and will be nothing. But someone else does not need to be at nothing for you to be something, and I often think you forget that. That you can only win by making others lose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, ah…” Gods, I think I understand it now. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard to address the point. Still, I’ve been more scared. I can see the ground now. “I have room for you both in my life, Selena. Don’t doubt that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” you ask, feigning ignorance but too tired to feign anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean… you can mean what you mean,” I explain. “If you… if that’s okay with you. I would…” I gulp. I’m shaking again, and my vision is obscured by what I assume is the rain until you face me and wipe something off my cheek with your hand. The touch is so tender that I realize that I am crying when I cry more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are going to be a mess,” I offer with a teary laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already am a mess,” you explain. “All the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>All </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time. I’m messy and volatile and angry and I am not sure what I want, and I often don’t figure it out until it’s too late, and… I mean, Kagero, whoever she is… I’ll figure it out. Because I really do want you to be happy, even if I’m not perfect. And that’s because I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>you, Bee. I fucking love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t immediately react. I do not know if I can coordinate my thoughts. Thankfully you are still going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t just tolerate you, okay? Or just live with you and your quirks. Nobody loves you like I love you, honey. A-and I’m sorry it took me so long to see that, and I’m sorry that it might be too late, and I’m sorry if I left you waiting, but Bee, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I have, I have never loved any person on this Earth like I love you. And even if it’s because I am young and emotionally high strung, I don’t care. I’m so tired of second-guessing myself because I have never been able to shake or quantify how much I utterly love you. I’d do anything for you. And-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have… to hand it to you. I usually do what I can so that you do not overthink. I probably should have stopped you before but, understandably, I was a little shocked at how… perfect this moment was. It is… I do not feel fantastic about myself admitting that I fantasized about it, but… this is beyond my wildest dreams. I am not sure I can quantify how I feel about it, but I think I understand how you feel because I want to sob and admit everything to you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think I kissed you just now so that none of us would be able to talk more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kiss in the rain. The ground beneath us is muddy and you slip and fall on me. I do not mind. I love you. And I love kissing you more than I thought I could enjoy kissing anyone. I love how you press on top of me, how your voice cuts as you breathe, how you take my hand into yours and do not let go, please do not let go, I am safe now and I love you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually our lips part and breathily, I speak. “I love you too, Selena. You are my favorite person. Kagero knows this. She knows about you. She was very encouraging, and I like her in her own way, but…” I feel like this is not the time to intricately explain polyamory, and I try to piece together a clipped explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you were poly,” you pant against me. Oh, thank the Gods that you know what that is. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, though. I, uh- I will work on that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it helps, I did not know before tonight,” I admit with a hoarse chuckle. “I did not know… all that you felt about me, but I feel the same way. Ways I didn’t know I could feel. Human ways. And… no matter what happens, no matter who we see…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grip your hands. You breathe on my sternum but do not move. There is so much mud in my hair that I cannot imagine how many showers it will take to wash it all out. You’d probably do best to avoid wearing that dress again. You glance up at me like you cannot believe this, but that you like that it is happening regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please stay with me, Sele,” I plead. “For as long as possible. Be mine. I want this to last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You nod. “Bee, of course. Of course, Bee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the back of my head, I surmise that we should go home, but we have a long time ahead of us. I am sure we will get there eventually. I will happily tell Kagero how tonight went- in sparing detail, as most will be for us- and maybe down the line the three of us will meet. You should continue to go on more dates, with or without me, and maybe the girls will feel right with you in their own way. I would like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just come home to me, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We can figure out where to go from there.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I do not think I could tell you how intricately, how much I could write in an essay, I believe that Beruka deserves the world. </p><p>Sorry for the rushed ending, but it was nice to be able to mentally evacuate this V-Day as it happened.</p><p>-Maeve</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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